What Dreams May Come
by Mem Aleph
Summary: "Dear Diary... My name is Harry, Harry Potter. I'm a Gryffindor and I'm in second year." "Hello, Harry. My name is Tom." Harry encounters Tom Riddle's diary somewhat earlier, and an unlikely friendship blossoms. Mild Tom/Harry slash. Rated T to be safe.
1. The Fourth Floor Bathroom

**Chapter 1: The Fourth Floor Bathroom**

I hope it's very clear to everyone that I do not own the Harry Potter series, nor any of its contents.

 **Warning: mild Tom/Harry slash**

* * *

"To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,  
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,  
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,  
Must give us pause."

\- William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

* * *

Ignoring Ron's protests (it was a _girls_ ' bathroom, and haunted besides, and what business could a _boy_ have in there?), Hermione reached for the brass doorknob and swung the door open. She marched briskly inside, followed reluctantly by Ron, who was still grumbling quietly, and Harry, who looked skeptical. When her shoes splashed in the numerous puddles on the floor, soaking the bottom of her robes, she began to pick her steps carefully, somewhat disgruntled.

"Blimey," Ron muttered behind her. "This place is a dump."

Hermione couldn't refute that. The bathroom was small and grimy, its tiled floor streaked with mould and strewn with shards of porcelain and rusted iron from a sink that had fallen off the wall. The remaining sinks were in almost as poor repair, and it seemed as if the slightest touch would send them crashing after their sibling. The doors of the stalls hung open, glimpses of their graffitied surfaces visible beneath the slime coating them. Several were hanging off their hinges, creaking at strange angles or gone altogether. The toilets within were leaking and dirty, none of them looking at all usable.

Hermione drew in a deep breath, and immediately regretted it. The sour, putrid taste of the air made her splutter and cough. When she finally recovered she glanced over her shoulder at the increasingly apprehensive-looking Harry and Ron.

"Come on then, you two. Stop looking so queasy," she said to her two best friends, somewhat more sharply than she had intended. " We need somewhere to brew the potion, and this is it. This is the last place anyone would look for us, after all. It's completely deserted!"

Before Hermione's lecture could truly begin it was cut off by a shrill wailing sound from one of the numerous stalls. As two startled boys and one rather resigned girl looked on, a ghost shot out of a nearby toilet, spraying them with water. She twisted around, bobbing in the air and peering petulantly at them for a moment, looking almost annoyed before bursting unexpectedly into tears.

"Oh, yes, deserted!" the ghost sobbed tragically. "Nobody would _ever_ come near Moaning Myrtle, not if they could help it, is that it? They never liked me when I was alive, why would it change now that I'm dead? Since this place is so _deserted_ ," she snapped, annoyance returning, "why would _you_ be here? Are you here to make fun of me some more? To laugh at the poor dead girl?"

Hermione turned to face Harry. " _Say something!_ " she mouthed at him. He flailed for a moment, reaching for something to say. Finally, he seemed to come up with something, but as soon as he opened his mouth he was interrupted by yet another ghostly wail.

"Whispering behind my back now? Everyone _always_ whispers about Myrtle, because it's so _funny_ to make fun of a dead girl, isn't it!" With that, the teary ghost turned around in the air and dived head-first into another toilet, once again soaking the three children.

"So," Harry finally said, once the three students had wrung the worst of the water out of their robes, "this is our new secret Potions lab." All three of them exchanged glances and, as if by some unspoken consensus, burst out laughing.

* * *

Three days later, early on Saturday morning, the trio once again found themselves in the fourth floor girls' bathroom. This time they had brought with them a small brass cauldron found in a nearby broom closet, as well as a sack of stolen lacewing flies and a portable burner. Harry looked around, but the bathroom's resident ghost was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, 'Mione," he said, "d'you reckon Myrtle might mess with the potion?"

"No, Harry," the bushy-haired girl replied, "I talked to her a bit yesterday, when she was less… upset. I think she's in some other bathroom right now, she agreed to leave our little project alone."

"Great, thanks!" Harry gave her a bright smile, green eyes gleaming. "So, how do we start this off?"

Hermione glanced at the piece of parchment in her hand and a determined light sparked in her eyes. "First off, we'll need to stew these," she ordered, hefting the bag of flies, "for twenty-one days."

"Twenty-one?" exclaimed Ron. "But-"

Hermione cut him off with a _look_ and continued as though he hadn't interrupted. "Ron, Harry, you go fill the cauldron with water while I set up the burner."

Harry nodded obligingly and grabbed one of the brass handles, but Ron muttered something about always being happy to let _other people_ do all the heavy lifting. He cut himself short at Harry's poorly-stifled giggles and grabbed the other side of the cauldron, flushing pink. The two boys lifted it to the most stable-looking of the sinks, which then gave an alarming creak (accompanied by a "Blimey!" from Ron). Harry just grimaced, holding his end of the cauldron more firmly as his best friend reached out with one hand to turn on the tap.

A sputtering stream of water – thankfully clean – greeted them, and it took all of Harry's willpower to resist the urge to leap back as droplets sprayed in his direction. "How full does this have to be?" he asked Hermione. She was already halfway through assembling the burner's stand and only spared him a distracted glance.

"Fill it about halfway," she told him. "We can always add more." Harry shot her a skeptical look, but at her lack of response he murmured his agreement.

When the heavy cauldron was about half-full, Harry reached to turn off the tap. With the loss of his right arm's support his left buckled and the cauldron tipped threateningly, water sloshing over the side.

"Oi!" Ron scowled at his friend. "You've gotta do _some_ of the work!"

"Sorry!" the dark-haired boy apologized, grabbing the cauldron again with his right hand. "Didn't realize how heavy it was. Come on, the stand's all set up, we can put the thing down."

The pair of boys set the brass cauldron down onto the stand Hermione had placed over the burner and stepped back.

"D'you need a hand lighting that?" asked Harry as the girl screwed up her face in concentration.

"No, I'm–" a small jet of flame shot from the tip of her wand, lighting the burner and promptly causing a very small explosion. "–fine," Hermione finished, relaxing her slightly singed eyebrows. "Just fine." She dumped the flies into the cauldron and stirred them several times, looking quite pleased with herself.

"Blimey, what time is it?" Ron jumped to his feet, startling Harry. "If we want to get to breakfast before it's over, we have to hurry!"

Harry smiled to himself. If there was one thing his best friend would worry about, getting to breakfast on time was it. The three children quickly exited the run-down bathroom and carefully closed the door behind them. Hermione locked it behind them with a muttered word and a quick wave of her wand, just to be safe. Then, following Ron's frantic pace, they sprinted toward the Great Hall.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

So, how did you like the first chapter of my first fanfic? I'll try to update on a fairly regular basis (by which I mean at light-speed for about two weeks and then sparsely) and maybe even do scheduled updates if I can.

I'd really appreciate reviews, so if you have the time let me know what you think!

And finally, a huge thank you to my beta, deerstorm!


	2. Quidditch

**Chapter 2: Quidditch**

If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be wasting my time here; not when my private island would await.

 **Warning: mild Tom/Harry slash**

* * *

Harry stared at his plate, not hungry at all. However much Ron reminded him that he should keep his strength up for the Quidditch match in a few hours, he just couldn't bring himself to eat. They had put into motion their plan to infiltrate Slytherin's dormitories under an hour ago, but Harry was already starting to have doubts. Yes, it had seemed like a wonderful idea, but so many things could go badly, and it would only take a curious student who knew the charm _Alohomora_ to get them all in terrible trouble. And the potion could explode, or they could brew it wrong and poison themselves, or Snape could discover the missing ingredients, or something else would ruin it all. Maybe they should just–

"Harry?" he heard distantly. He failed to register his name immediately, still staring moodily at his food. "Harry!" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts, and he forced a smile.

"What is it?" he asked his friend, trying to keep his tone light.

"You know, I may not have a Seeker's eyes, but I'm certainly not blind!" The girl folded her arms and glared at him, as though he had suggested that she _was_ blind, but after a moment her expression softened. "Harry, I'm one of your best friends. I _know_ you, and it's easy enough to see that you're fretting about our…" – she lowered her voice and leaned in conspiratorially – " _Potions homework_. It'll be fine, Harry, really."

Harry's smile fled, replaced by a worried look. "You can say that, but what if we forget to lock the door and some firstie wanders in and tells a professor? Or if Myrtle knocks over the cauldron when we're not there? Or–" He couldn't seem to stop himself from spouting all of his fears about what could go wrong. Speaking the words out loud rather than letting them drift around in the back of his mind made him even more nervous.

"Harry." Hermione's face was stern, but her tone betrayed her. "Stop worrying! Nothing will go wrong. Do you really think I'd let it? Now get some food into your stomach, you've got a Quidditch match to worry about!" She smiled warmly.

The dark-haired boy smiled back, this time genuinely. "Thanks, 'Mione," he said softly, and reached for the sausages.

"'Bout time," mumbled Ron, mouth full.

Harry couldn't repress a snicker. And it felt like he was getting his appetite back as well. " _About time indeed,"_ Harry thought happily, and dug in.

* * *

Even for November, it was a miserable day. The sky was uniformly grey, the kind of gloomy grey that leaches the colour and life from everything, and a bitter wind was blowing the sporadic drizzle at a steep angle. Harry shivered in his red-and-gold Quidditch robes and wiped his glasses with a damp sleeve, before stepping onto the pitch behind the rest of Gryffindor's team.

Before they reached Madam Hooch, the team's captain, Oliver Wood, stopped and turned around to face his players. "Alright!" His stance was solid and his eyes eager. "Let's have a good game, team. Play it fair, but play well! We won't lose to those snakes, even if _our_ fathers didn't buy us expensive new brooms."

His last words were louder than strictly necessary, and judging by the glares shot their way by the Slytherin team, not well received. Gryffindor's team, however, let out a cheer and marched up to the centre of the pitch.

They were met there by seven angry Slytherins, all on new Nimbus 2001 brooms and headed by Marcus Flint. Harry scanned their players briefly and met the eyes of the new Slytherin Seeker – none other than Draco Malfoy.

The blond boy sneered condescendingly and hefted his new broom, shooting a dismissive glance at Harry's Nimbus 2000. Harry glared, his eyes sparking with anger. _He may have a newer broom,_ Harry thought, _but I'm a better Seeker than he could hope to be._

"Players!" At Madam Hooch's shout, Harry's gaze snapped to her.

"Mount your brooms!" The woman knelt down, one hand on the chest containing the Snitch and Bludgers, the other holding the Quaffle.

"And… GO!" As both teams rose quickly into the air, she threw the red ball, which was caught by Gryffindor Chaser Katie Bell.

Harry rose higher, flying lazy circles around the pitch. Cold rain pelted him and he had to squint through it. As he looked down on the match he realized that he could no longer see the other team's blond Seeker. Looking more closely, he figured out why: Malfoy was shadowing him, only a few broom-lengths behind and gaining.

Harry began to zig and zag, trying to throw the other boy off his tail. As he swung left and began a dive, a dark shape whizzed past his face, only centimetres from his nose. Startled, he pulled sharply out of his dive just in time to see one of the Weasley twins dart past.

"Sorry, Harry," Fred – or was it George? – yelled back to him. "Bludger got away from us!"

The other twin pitched in from below. "Almost hit Malfoy, though!"

"S'fine," Harry hollered back. "Just be more careful next time!"

He rose higher above the match, hoping to avoid the next stray Bludger. Malfoy, undeterred by the near collision, followed. He had fallen behind during Harry's maneuvering, but was once again coming up fast.

Harry decided that for now it didn't matter, and just ignored the other boy, focusing on finding the elusive Snitch. He flew in a wide curve, scanning the air above and below, but saw no glimmer of gold. What he did see was another Bludger gone astray and again headed straight for him.

 _What is it with these Slytherins?_ Harry mused. _It's true that their own Seeker is incompetent, but is he really bad enough that they have to knock me out?_

Swooping below the oncoming Bludger, Harry twisted around to watch it head for Malfoy, a wide grin on his face. The Bludger, though, didn't even get close to the blond boy before it swerved in midair and hurtled back toward Harry, who immediately fell into a steep dive. He dropped like a stone toward the rest of the game (" _And Gryffindor scores their first goal! 60-10 to Slytherin! Slimy buggers–")_ with the Bludger still following. Harry was almost certain they weren't supposed to do that.

"Fred! George!" The twin Beaters fell into line with Harry, flying alongside him. "Get this Bludger off my back, would you?" The pair of them gave simultaneous nods and fell back, bats at the ready.

Harry sighed, and flew back up above the action. He was still tailed by Malfoy, but decided to ignore him for now and focus on finding the Snitch. He raised a hand to wipe away the raindrops on his glasses – a futile effort, he realized as the steady drizzle eliminated his efforts. With visibility this low Harry wouldn't be able to rely on his quick sight. This game would come down to luck, and nothing more.

With his focus directed at the pitch, Harry almost didn't notice the Bludger as it ricocheted off one of the twins' bats, flew under Malfoy, and swooped back straight at him. Harry had had quite enough of this.

"What the bloody _hell_ is wrong with this Bludger?" he shouted to the nearest twin. "Why does it keep _following me_?"

The redhead only shrugged, looking as confused as Harry felt. "Maybe one of the Slytherins cursed it!" he shouted back, shooting a dirty look at Malfoy. "I'll ask Wood!" The twin doubled back, flying toward the team's Keeper and Captain, Oliver Wood.

Harry narrowed his eyes and angled his broom sharply downwards. Bracing himself against the wind, he flew as fast as he could fly, and the Bludger predictably followed. As Harry drew level with the rest of the game he pulled out of his dive and took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._

The Slytherin Chasers scattered as Harry maneouvered between and around them, his path full of sharp turns and narrow curves. The Bludger still trailed him, wildly beating a path through the other team's players. One of them dropped the Quaffle, only for it to be caught by Gryffindor Chaser Angelina Johnson, who sped off towards the Slytherin goals.

Harry paused for a moment, processing what had just happened, and then grinned. His plan had worked – now all he had to do was make sure that the Bludger didn't hit him.

* * *

This… was getting ridiculous. Harry stood on the ground, cowering behind Fred and George Weasley as the twins took turns beating away the rogue Bludger, only for it to circle back and come at Harry again.

Oliver Wood had called a time-out when it became apparent that his team's Beaters were fully occupied with protecting Harry, leaving the rest of the team at the mercy of Slytherin's beaters and the second Bludger.

When Madam Hooch had blown a shrill note on her whistle, one of the iron balls had come to an abrupt halt and made its way back to her, but the other had continued to pursue Harry. The Bludger was being fended off for the moment, but the team's Beaters couldn't devote their attention to only one player for the rest of the game.

"Potter," said Wood grimly, "you're a brilliant Seeker. We need you in this game. With those new brooms the Slytherins've got, the rest of us haven't a chance. We're losing badly, and you're our last hope."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to defend the rest of the team, but Wood cut him off.

"We know it's true, Potter, and so do you. Now, I know that Bludger's a bit of a bother–"

"Oh, yeah–" said one of the Weasley twins.

"–just a bit," finished the other dryly.

Wood continued as if neither had spoken. "–but Potter, if anyone can do this, it's you. We need you to– _I_ need you to get in there and catch the bloody Snitch before Slytherin gets any more of a lead on us. Show them that a Seeker has to have more than a rich father to win. Beat Malfoy to the Snitch, or die trying."

Harry stood a bit straighter and looked his Captain in the eye.

"I'll do it."

* * *

Half an hour later into the game, and Harry wasn't feeling so sure anymore. Visibility was still low, Malfoy was still on his tail, and the Bludger had only –against all odds – gotten harder to avoid. Judging by Malfoy's snickers every time the ball got close to hitting Harry, the dark-haired boy was almost certain that its relentless pursuit of him was the fault of the other Seeker. Harry wasn't ready to give up, though. If he caught the Snitch soon enough, they could still win.

It had to be soon, though. The score was 160-50, in Slytherin's favour, and the gap was only growing. Four more goals for them and it would be a tied game at best. Harry was trying as hard as he could, but without Fred and George protecting him he had to devote most of his attention to avoiding that thrice-damned Bludger.

Suddenly, Harry saw a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye. Keeping track of it, he continued in a wide loop, drawing slowly closer. No point in letting Malfoy know where the Snitch was, after all. Harry sped up a bit as the Bludger whizzed past again, narrowly avoiding it.

The Snitch zipped upwards and Harry heard a gasp from behind him. Now that the other Seeker had caught sight of the tiny ball there was no longer any point in stealth. Harry leaned forward, pushing his broom to its highest speed, and reached out with his right arm. He was so close!

A black blur slammed into his outstretched arm, and for a moment, all Harry could feel was pain. He gasped, and jolted back. His arm was dangling limply at his side. He tried to raise it, and a flash of agony seared through it. Turning his head, Harry saw the rogue Bludger hovering near him. It almost looked proud, if such a thing was possible.

The Snitch gleamed in front of him, its wings brushing his face gently. As if in a trance, Harry reached up with his left hand to take it, felt it flutter against his palm as his fingers closed around it… and fell.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

First of all, thank you _so much_ to everyone who's reviewed, favourited, followed, and even just viewed this story! It means a lot to me that people like my work, and I'll try my hardest not to disappoint all of you! (More reviews wouldn't be turned down, though...)

I had meant to introduce the Diary in this chapter, but then I remembered that I had to write in a Quidditch match, so that took precedence. Next chapter, though, I promise.

And a huge thanks to my beta, deerstorm!


	3. The Diary

**Chapter 3: The Diary**

I would not turn down Harry Potter were it given to me, but it has not been.

 **Warning: mild Tom/Harry slash**

* * *

Hogwarts' hospital wing was quiet and dark. It was a place of gleaming surfaces and hushed conversation in the daytime, but by night it was lonely and cold. A few beds lined one of the walls, separated by plain white curtains. These beds were pristine, white sheets tucked precisely into place and pillows fluffed with perfect symmetry. All of them but one.

In the bed closest to the door, Harry Potter tossed and turned in fitful sleep. An end table beside the bed was littered with sweets and get-well cards, with a small teddy bear perched on top of the pile. Harry's glasses and wand lay off to the side, thoughtfully rescued by Madam Pomfrey, the school's matron.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud _CRACK!_ Harry panicked, shooting upright as he blindly groped for his wand, knocking gifts and candies off the table as he did so. Once he had managed to grab the wand and put on his glasses, the boy noticed a weight on his bed. A small creature crouched there, huge green eyes wide and pointed ears alert. It opened its small mouth, but before it could speak–

"You!" Harry exclaimed. "You were at my aunt's house– you–"

The creature's eyes were filling with tears as he spoke.

"Harry Potter remembers Dobby! He is truly a great wizard! Oh, Dobby is so sorry, Harry Potter, it was the only way. It is not safe at Hogwarts, oh no. Harry Potter should not have come here. Leave, before it is too late!"

Harry's eyes widened, and he was suddenly hit by realization.

"The barrier… Was that you? Did you block off Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?"

"It was the only way, Harry Potter must understand! Dobby could not let Harry Potter come to Hogwarts, he is only getting hurt! And now Harry Potter must go home, because Hogwarts is too dangerous. Harry Potter understands, does he not?"

"Do you understand what you did?" Harry asked, in a voice that quavered with barely-contained rage. "I almost got _killed_ by that bloody tree, and I had a detention with _Lockhart!_ And– was that Bludger _yours?_ "

Dobby trembled and shrank down into himself, turning his bulging eyes away from Harry.

"You could have gotten me _killed_! Why would you _do_ something like that?"

"So Harry Potter will leave Hogwarts. And he will, he– he must! Please, Harry Potter, although you are a great wizard you must leave Hogwarts!"

"I will _never_ leave," Harry said fiercely. "I don't care how many times you try to _get me killed!_ "

"B-but–" Dobby twitched and shivered, ears laid back. "Harry Potter does not know what Dobby's bad master– No! Bad Dobby, bad Dobby!"

The elf suddenly leapt from Harry's bed and began to beat his head against the pristine white floor. Harry reached out to stop him, but before he could Dobby had vanished with another _CRACK!_ After a moment of silence, Harry took off his glasses, placed them and his wand back on the table, and laid back down in his bed. He didn't sleep much more that night.

* * *

Harry hadn't been let out of the hospital wing until mid-morning the next day. Despite the bones of his arms having fully regrown by the time he woke up from the scant sleep he had gotten after Dobby's visit, Madam Pomfrey had insisted on keeping him resting and under observation for hours longer.

Lunch was quiet and uneventful, excepting Harry's encounter with the Weasley twins. After assuring them that yes, he had gotten their card, and no, he was _not_ willing to autograph for them a photo of himself mid-fall, Harry heaved a sigh of relief at their departure.

"Prats," muttered Ron, shooting a glare after them as they walked away. "So how was it? Skele-Gro's supposed to sting like anything. One time Gin broke her arm playing Quidditch and Mum used Skele-Gro on it, and she cried the whole night." He cast a nervous glance around. "She'd kill me if she knew I told you that."

"Yeah, it definitely hurt," Harry replied. "I hardly slept. Oh, that reminds me – Ron, what d'you know about house-elves?"

"Not much. Only the really old pureblood families own any, and we don't keep much with them. I think Hogwarts is s'posed to have a few, but I've never seen them. Um, they've got to obey orders from their owners, and they punish themselves if they do anything wrong at all. That's all I know." He shrugged

Hermione pinned the two of them with a sharp gaze. "What are house-elves?"

Harry turned to her and shrugged. "These funny little things – short, pointy ears, really huge eyes – it was one of them that sent that Bludger after me."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "They're not allowed to hurt people usually… someone's got it in for you, Harry!"

"I dunno… He said he wanted me to leave Hogwarts, that it wasn't safe. He was the one who was taking my mail, you know, and who blocked the platform."

Ron scowled. "Little bugger got you in trouble with those Muggles too, yeah?"

"Yeah. But he's gone for now, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Harry grinned broadly at his two best friends, and pretended not to notice Hermione's exasperated sigh as he turned back to his lunch. She just worried too much, and besides – what more could a house elf do?

* * *

True to her word, Moaning Myrtle had not, in fact, done anything to their potion. Although it was only the second day of their potion-making, Hermione had informed Harry and Ron (speaking loudly over their groans of complaint) that the three of them had to stir the lacewing flies several times daily. It was now Harry's turn, a few hours after lunch, and he was indeed stirring away.

Harry stood leaning slightly back, angling his body away from the foul-smelling steam coming off the cauldron's contents – not that it made much difference in the run-down bathroom. Luckily the burner's flame was magically sustained and thus didn't need fuel every half-hour, but the damn flies still had to be stirred so they didn't 'settle down and get burned,' in Hermione's words.

Harry did, however, pride himself on having won the three-o-clock shift rather than seven or eleven, which had gone to a grumbling Ron and a resigned Hermione, respectively. Harry supposed they'd rotate at some point, but may as well enjoy it while it lasted.

As Harry finished the last of thirteen stirs widdershins, Harry heard thumping footfalls echoing through the stone walls. His heart pounded wildly as he turned quickly, hastily arranging himself in front of the cauldron to hide it the best he could. The door burst open, and in ran a first-year girl, with dishevelled red hair and tears streaming down her cheeks. He realized after a second that the girl was Ron's little sister.

When she saw him, her brown eyes went wide and she let out a hiccuping gasp. Her arms fell slack to her sides and a dark object she had been clutching to her chest fell into one of the many puddles on the floor, but she didn't seem to notice, only managing a few choked, stammered apologies before turning and fleeing.

A moment after she had run out of sight, Harry let out a belated cry of " _Wait!_ " When he got no response, he walked over and picked up the book she had dropped, turning it over in his hands curiously. It was small and black, leather cover somewhat worn but seemingly not at all damaged by the water. When Harry opened it to the first page, he struggled to make out the faded print:

 _T. M. Riddle._

* * *

When Harry had finally tracked down Ginny, she had insisted, haltingly and with many blushes, that the book wasn't hers and she really didn't want it, he could keep it, really. Harry had just shrugged and thanked her, leaving her with a face as red as her hair. He could use it as a journal or diary, he supposed.

It was late at night and Harry was fairly sure that the other boys in his dorm room were already asleep. Still, to be safe, he pulled the curtains on his four-poster bed closed as well as dragging his duvet over his head, before casting a whispered _Lumos_ and opening the book to the blank second page.

Fumbling a bit with the ink-pot, Harry wet his quill and set it tentatively to the page.

 _Dear Diary,_ he wrote. He stared at the page for a moment, then scratched out 'diary' and replaced it with 'journal'. _My name is Harry Potter. I'm a Gryffindor and I'm in second year._

He paused for a moment to gaze at the ink-pot and wondered what to write next. He'd never had a journal before. As he turned his eyes back to the page, however, he noticed something strange: the book was writing back.

 _Hello, Harry. My name is Tom._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Everyone who has reviewed, followed, favourited, or read this story has my eternal gratitude and undying love. It makes me so happy that people think _my writing_ is worth spending time on, and I'll try as hard as I can to live up to all of your expectations for the rest of the story.

On that note, I won't say I would refuse more readers and reviewers!

After something of a long wait, we finally meet Tom! I wanted to post this days ago, but it just didn't want to be written. Probably all the dialogue.

And, to those of you who prefer reading on AO3, this story is now posted there! Same name, same penname, so check it out!

And finally, my thanks go out to my beta deerstorm.


	4. The Diary pt II

**Chapter 4: The Diary pt. II**

I've made my disclaimers, now I'm off to lie in them.

 **Warning: mild Tom/Harry slash**

* * *

Harry stared for a second, then rubbed his eyes, but when he reopened them the words were still there. _I guess it makes sense,_ he thought. _If there are talking paintings and moving statues, why not a person in a book?_

Harry dipped his quill back into the ink-pot and set it to the page. _Hello Tom! What's it like, being a book?_ His words faded slowly, the ink seeping into the paper as if it had never been, and the elegant script of Tom's reply replaced it.

 _It has been very lonely,_ the journal wrote. _I have waited for years and years, hoping someone would find me. Now you have, and I'm so happy, Harry! Will we be friends?_

Harry grinned widely, eyes racing over those four words over and over as they faded away. His response was fast and sure. _Of course! I've been lonely too, you know. Before I came to Hogwarts, I had no friends at all, and now I have Ron, Hermione, and you!_

Tom's reply seemed smug, somehow. _Yes, Harry, I am certain we will be great friends._

* * *

Bright light hit Harry's closed eyes, and he grimaced sleepily, rolling over into his pillow. He wanted so badly to swat away the hand shaking him awake, but he couldn't quite muster the energy.

"Harry! Harry, come on, it's breakfast!" Ron's voice was, unsurprisingly, laced with urgency at the thought of missing the first meal of the day. When Harry only groaned and rolled over in response, Ron tore the duvet off the bed and watched his friend shiver. "Come on, we'll be late, get up!" he whined.

"Fine, fine, I'm awake," Harry groaned. He had stayed up until some ungodly hour talking to Tom, and breakfast simply wasn't a high enough priority to inspire a zeal approaching Ron's. If his friend wasn't so insistent on Harry joining him in the Great Hall he would have been much happier to stay in bed, like a sane person. Harry dug deep inside himself and found the strength to clamber out of his nice, warm bed, jamming his glasses onto his face and cramming his wand and his new friend into the deep pockets of his robes. As soon as he took a step toward the door Ron sprinted ahead of him as if his life depended on it.

The Great Hall was, unsurprisingly, noisy. It hit Harry like a bus when he walked in, and soon enough he was trying to ignore a pulsing headache. It was easy enough for the two Gryffindors to spot the missing piece of their trio, as Hermione was almost falling out of her seat waving them over.

"Morning, Hermione," Ron said cheerily, sliding into a seat and immediately piling his plate high with food. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Ron, your sister – Ginny, right? Do you know what happened to her? She was in tears when she came into the dorm last night, and she wouldn't tell anyone why." As she was talking, Hermione shot concerned glances toward the youngest Weasley, who was sitting at the far end of the table, despondently considering a link of sausage.

"Ginny, really? Eh, she's a bit of a crybaby, really," Ron managed between mouthfuls of scrambled egg. "I'm sure it's just that Snape looked at her funny or something."

Hermione wasn't convinced. "Honestly, Ron, I think it's more serious than that," she huffed. "She really was very upset, I haven't seen her like this before."

"Fine, fine," Ron replied. "I'll ask her about it at lunch, or something." With that settled, he turned back to his plate. He had to make up for the time lost waking Harry, after all. He hardly knew why he'd bothered, really. His friend wasn't even talking to him, he just looked on the verge of falling asleep on top of his toast.

"–rry? Harry!" The brunet boy jerked his head upright from where it had been drooping, his green eyes snapping open.

"Wha– Oh, 'Mione, what's going on?" he asked, gaze darting around the room in search of danger. Finding nothing, he yawned hugely and began to nod off again before Hermione's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Harry, are you alright? Didn't you sleep at all last night?" she asked. Concern for her friend warred with disapproval over anyone staying up late for any reason other than homework, which she knew Harry hadn't been doing, she had made sure he finished it all yesterday.

"I did sleep some," he muttered guiltily, cramming a forkful of bacon into his mouth to excuse himself from explaining. Of course, it didn't work; Hermione was still there staring demandingly at him when he looked up. "It's nothing, really. I was just… reading, is all."

A light came on in Hermione's eyes. "What were you reading? If it was good enough to keep _you_ up all night, I'm sure I've already read it, and if I haven't can I borrow it, I run out of books so fast, and–"

" _Breathe_ , 'Mione, Merlin," Ron laughed from her other side. He took a swig of his pumpkin juice. "What were you reading though, mate? Hermione's right, it must've been good. Did you borrow one of Dean's girlie mags?" he asked with a weak attempt at a leer. Harry choked on his tea.

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped, face flaming. "That's disgusting, Harry would never, would you, Harry?" She turned her glare on the brunet, whose ears were turning red at the tips.

"O-of course not," he managed. "It was just a novel, and I'd thank the both of you to leave off about it, alright?" His voice rose steadily until he was almost shouting, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of Gryffindor looking at him askance. Harry, noticing the sudden quiet, sank down in his seat and stared sullenly at the table.

"We're sorry, Harry, we didn't realize it was an issue," Hermione ventured. Ron nodded alongside. "We're just glad you're finding something more productive than Gobstones to keep you busy," she added, much to Ron's disgust if the face he pulled was any indication. At this, a small laugh was coaxed from Harry, and his friends sat back in relief. The rest of breakfast passed normally, and soon the trio were on their way to Transfiguration.

The rest of the day had passed by Harry in a blur, as had the next, and the next. Most nights he hardly slept at all, rather spending precious hours in Tom's company. It felt like they had known each other their whole lives – or Harry's whole life, at least, he had no idea when or how Tom had come into existence. Still, he was rapidly becoming the best friend Harry hadn't known he was missing.

* * *

 _Tom,_ Harry wrote one night, _I don't know if I can keep doing this._

 _What do you mean?_ came the reply, almost hesitant behind the sharp elegant lettering.

 _Well, it's just, I'm so tired all the time now, and I'm really falling behind in classes, you see, and I feel like I never talk to Ron and Hermione much anymore, so I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can talk with you except maybe on weekends._ Harry felt a hot flash of guilt behind his eyes as he watched the words fade into the page, but he didn't have much of a choice, did he?

 _I,_ wrote Tom, and then a long pause as the single letter melted away. Harry could feel his breath catching in his throat, the blank page suffocating in its silence. The instant the next trace of ink appeared he sagged in relief, eyes fixed on the creamy parchment. _I understand,_ Tom wrote to him, and that was all.

 _Tom?_ Harry asked, waiting until he was sure there would be no reply. _Tom, I'm sorry, I don't – I don't know what you want me to do! Tom, please?_ Again, there was no reply, and this time Harry's heart sank until it was pressing at his stomach, pinning him to his bed. It was hours before Harry could sleep, even with the diary tucked safely under his pillow, because it had stopped feeling like a friend. Now it felt like the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

Although his few hours of sleep had been fitful, Harry woke up the next morning with a weight off his shoulders. Firmly resolved, he shut the diary – Tom – into the drawer of his nightstand, a whispered _Colloportus!_ staving off any residual anxiety about leaving behind such a fixture of his daily life. That day went easier than any he could remember in the last two weeks, as did the next and the next. It didn't take long before Harry forgot to take the diary out one weekend (Quidditch practice was so time consuming, and that absolute boor Lockhart had assigned an essay–) and it seemed like no time at all had passed before it was time to sneak into the Slytherin dorm.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Wow I guess it's been two years. I wish I could use school as an excuse, but really I just haven't felt motivated to write at all for whatever reason. Obviously I'm a different person now than I was when I started this story, which means the writing and direction might change, but I'm not going to go back and redo it all.

If anyone's stuck with me for this long, I'm impressed, thank you. I would love to commit to another chapter in a week, or however long, but I don't want to break any promises haha. I will do my best though, I intend to finish this even if it takes another two years for the next 2000 words.

On that note, sorry for the short chapter! My only defence is that at least there is a chapter, right?


	5. Sparks

**Chapter 5: Sparks**

If by this point you still haven't seen any disclaimers you're starting at the wrong part of the story.

Also I'm not going to put any more warnings about slash if you can't deal with non-het romance you've got bigger problems than this fic.

* * *

The lone girl in the girls' bathroom kept stirring, a contemplative look on her face. "I suppose I could do Pansy Parkinson," she said. "Or Millicent Bulstrode even. Let's see if we can all get hairs at the duelling club today, alright?"

"Sounds like a plan," said Harry, perking up a bit. As much as Lockhart was an incompetent git, duelling club had quickly become one of Harry's favourite extracurriculars, almost on-par with Quidditch. Suddenly impatient, he turned to Hermione. "How many more stirs until this is over?" he asked.

"Soon, Harry –23– I need to keep count –24– shh!" she replied. Harry leaned back, chastened, and let his wand slide out of the sleeve of his robe. Gently grasping the handle he began wordlessly shooting off sparks, focusing on changing their colour to take his mind off how long he'd have to wait. It was a trick Tom had taught him – which reminded him, he really should set aside some time to write to his friend, it just seemed so… unreal now, like a dream.

"Merlin, Harry, where'd you learn that?" Ron almost shouted, earning him a sharp glare from Hermione before she had to turn her attention back to the potion. "That's wordless magic! We never learned anything like it in charms!" The redhead scooted closer to Harry along the grimy floor, watching with equal parts awe and envy in his blue eyes.

Snapped out of his thoughts, Harry cut off the flow of magic to his wand, hastily shoved it back into his sleeve. "It's nothing," he told his friend. "I just, er, read it in a book somewhere. In the library. While I was doing my essay." Suddenly, Harry felt as if keeping Tom a secret was of paramount importance. Heat rising in his cheeks, he turned away from Ron. "Is the interrogation over?" he muttered sullenly.

Hermione raised her gaze from the cauldron, brow crinkled in concern. "Harry, are you feeling alright?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine, alright!" he snapped. "I just don't know why you can't let it go and sod off, is all!" Harry's eyes remained fixed firmly on the cracked tiles, so he didn't notice that Ron's face was turning as red as his hair.

"Take that back!" demanded the ginger indignantly.

"Why should I?" Harry shot back.

"Because we're your friends, or used to be at least, before you started acting like a bloody troll who hit his head on a rock!" Ron shouted, leaping to his feet. "All we've been trying to do is talk to you once in a while and in return you treat us like dirt! So I say you owe us an apology, if we're even friends anymore." Standing tall, Ron leveraged his recent height to loom over Harry, still on the ground. Arms crossed, he stared down his best friend, even as he felt their friendship fraying.

Harry was seething. How dare Ron, after all he'd done for him! After Harry had befriended him, stuck by him – and why? What good did it do? It was a good thing Ron hadn't been a Hufflepuff, because clearly he had no loyalty to speak of. Slowly, Harry stood up. Ron steeled himself, waiting for an answering outburst, but none came. Instead, Harry walked slowly to the door, head held high.

"Wait!" Ron cried, panic in his voice. It wasn't supposed to go like this! He and Harry were supposed to have it out, and then everything would be normal again. But the brunet just kept walking, threw the door open, and let it swing shut on empty air.

Harry was gone.

* * *

The Gryffindor boys' dorm was quiet, which made sense because it was lunchtime on a Saturday. Listening closely, though, the silence was intermittently broken by harsh sobs and gasping breaths from the third bed to the left. On that bed, with the curtains drawn, huddled under the heavy comforter, was Harry Potter.

Harry held Tom close to his chest, wand lying forgotten next to him. Conversation had proved to be too difficult; he couldn't think of what to say to the friend he'd abandoned, the best friend he had, as it turned out. His wand had stopped glowing the moment he'd let it go, so he curled up tight in the darkness and cried.

Why would Ron do this? Why would _Harry_ do this, just walk away from his friends like that? He should have tried to talk to them, right? But what good could it have done, when he was keeping secrets anyway? No, that wasn't fair – Tom was _his_ friend, and Harry knew that he wouldn't be interested in the likes of them – wait, the likes of who? Were Ron and Hermione… no, that was ridiculous. But really, even if he couldn't get his thoughts straight, he should talk to Tom. Later. He'd talk to him in the morning.

Harry drifted into an exhausted sleep, eyes sore from crying and mind tired from chasing down his errant thoughts. When he woke up, the light in the room was darker and the enchanted oil lamps on the walls had come on. Blearily, he stretched, realizing only as he dropped it that he had still been clutching Tom's diary. Oh, right, he had been going to talk to him when he woke up. Well, it wasn't morning exactly, but there was still no-one around so it was fine. Propping himself up on his pillows, diary leaning against his knees and ink-pot on the nightstand next to his bed, he began to write.

 _Hi, Tom. I'm sorry I've been such a bad friend – and before you say anything, yes, I have. I should have figured out a way to get by without leaving you, and I really should have kept my promise to write to you on weekends. So I hope you can forgive me._

When the next words appeared on the page, Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He felt a warm glow in his chest at the sight of Tom's familiar, elegant script. He had missed him more than he thought.

 _Harry, thank you. It shows great strength of character that you were able to make this apology by yourself. You're right, and I won't pretend I wasn't hurt, but as long as you stay in touch going forward I will grant you my forgiveness._

Although tears welled in Harry's eyes at Tom's confession of hurt – how could he have done this to his friend! – he blinked them away with a smile. Tom had forgiven him, and he was never going to break his promise again.

 _Of course I will! You've no idea how much I missed you, Tom, it was just that my teachers were starting to worry that something was up and– but that doesn't matter, I won't do it again, ever. I just wish there was someplace better to talk than my dorm room, you know? I have to stay up late so the others don't get suspicious, and I'm just so tired after._

 _Oh, Harry, you should have said so sooner. I know just the place where we can go, but I can't show you it for a while. Because of how I'm enchanted, you see, I can only disclose my secrets to someone who has been my friend for a certain amount of time. So if you faithfully make sure to put aside some time for me, I will help you._

A thrill of happiness dispelled the swelling guilt in Harry's chest. Tom considered him a friend! And not only that, but there was a place for the two of them? He would write to his friend every day for however long it took, and it would be wonderful. He would be faithful to Tom, it didn't matter whether he learned his secrets or not. His friendship was enough.

 _Of course I will! Thank you for giving me a second chance. I – I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you, so thank you._ Before Tom could respond, Harry quickly continued. _I have to go down to the Great Hall now for supper, but I'll be back with you in an hour. Goodbye!_ As the plain black cover fell shut, Harry didn't see the new words forming on the page.

 _I'll wait for you._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I'm not a liar! I updated again! If anyone wants to review (do it) and tell me if you'd prefer more frequent short chapters or less frequent long ones please do! I always feel like my chapters are too short ;-;

Poor Tom is probably kind of conflicted about how much he likes this random twelve-year-old, huh. It's fine though, he's not going to be lusting after Harry until he's older, I want this to be as safe sane and consensual as it can get with a mind-control diary in the mix.

Also, I have exams next week, so I'll either write or study, unfortunately probably studying will win out. I've been trying to set aside half an hour each morning to work on this though so hopefully I'll keep on with that. Writing this I feel really unreliable though u.u;


	6. In Which There Is Memory Loss

**Chapter 6: In Which there Is Memory Loss**

* * *

Harry got to the Great Hall earlier than usual, relieved as he sat down that Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen. After their falling-out earlier that day, the last thing he wanted was to have to face his friends. Were they even his friends anymore? He wasn't sure at all. Tom wouldn't think so, probably, Tom would tell him that they weren't good enough for him. A smile stretched across Harry's face as he surveyed the dishes on the table. What was Tom's favourite food? He should ask him later.

Deciding on roast beef and potatoes, Harry piled his plate high. He felt hungrier than he'd been in ages, so he even spooned some steamed peas to the side of his meal. As he ate, Harry hardly noticed the steadily growing stream of students into the Hall until Ginny Weasley sat down across from him.

"Hello!" she squeaked when he looked up, the word compressed almost into a single syllable. Before he could respond, Ginny's face turned a burning red and she hid it in her hands. Harry decided it was probably best to give her some space, and turned back to his food.

By the time he was halfway through his peas, Ginny had apparently worked up the courage to speak again. She tapped him on the arm to draw his attention and then opened and closed her mouth several times, steeling herself. "H-Harry, um, do you know that, that, um, book I had, a, a while back?" she asked him.

Harry froze. Was she talking about Tom? What could she possibly want with him? She didn't want the book back, did she, he would never give up his friend! Tom was _his_ , and he'd be damned if Ginny bleeding Weasley though she could waltz in and take him away, how _dare_ she!

Ginny cleared her throat nervously, and Harry was jolted out of his thoughts. "I might, not that it's any of your business," he said coldly. "What do you want with h– it?" The girl looked on the verge of tears, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care, not in the face of losing his best, most loyal friend.

"I just– I just had to w-warn you, Harry, that book is, it's _evil,"_ she managed. Her lower lip was trembling and she was blinking off tears. "You have to believe me, I, I couldn't d-destroy it, please, Harry, be careful," she said with the last of her resolve. Tightly clasping her hands together, she waited.

All Harry had needed to hear was that this arrogant, clueless first-year had tried to destroy Tom's book. She was as much of a git as her brother, the worthless girl, to hell with both of them! Suddenly not hungry anymore, Harry pushed his plate away and stood. He leveled the full force of his glare on the second Weasley to betray him, and said, his voice dripping with venom, "Don't presume to speak to me again." Turning away from the sobbing girl at the Gryffindor table and the curious glances from the rest of the Hall, Harry left.

Storming through Hogwarts' stony halls, Harry was on the verge of boiling over with rage. He vibrated with an energy disproportionate to his small frame, shoulders tense and lightning in his eyes. His steps were fast and sure, his back straight, his head held rigidly upright. He was going to go get Tom, and he would never let anyone take him away. At that moment, rather than a scrawny twelve-year-old, the sight of Harry Potter called to mind a wrathful wizard-lord.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat at the great oaken desk in the Headmaster's office, poring over an ancient roll of parchment with keen blue eyes. Through the buzz and whirr of the many silver devices lining the surfaces of the room, he concentrated. He had no appointments scheduled, no paperwork to do, and no troublemaking Gryffindors to disapprovingly twinkle at. He could finally get some light reading in.

"Headmaster!" cried one of the portraits above his desk, a gasping shepherd resting against Armando Dippet's frame. "Come quickly, it's urgent – the – the Chamber of Secrets has been opened!"

Albus Dumbledore steepled his fingers above his long, crooked nose and let out a sigh. It had been too much to hope for, hadn't it, just an hour to himself. Gazing longingly at his parchment, the Headmaster of Hogwarts drew himself to his full height and swept out of his office.

* * *

 _Rage, fear, urgency._

 _A feeling like arms around him, holding him tight._

 _Strange, garbled hissing that somehow sounded like words,_ Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four! _,_ _and a great grinding sound of stone on stone, and then an answer, more natural in its rhythm,_ How may I serve the Heir of Slytherin? _, and a rustling like dry leaves which crept around and behind and made him want to run as far and as fast as he could._

 _A flash, in the periphery of his vision, bright bright yellow like the sun, and like the sun, too hot to look into, too bright, it_ hurt–

* * *

The bright morning sun crept in through the cracks in the curtains and stung at Harry's eyes, poking and prodding him to open them and start the day. When he did, and the light flooded in all at once, it burned and he felt a dizzying wash of déjà-vu. Harry blinked, and the feeling was broken by a wave of panic. He had forgotten about Tom – hadn't he? He remembered hurrying back to his dorm in a temper, he had been on his way to his friend, and then… nothing. Had he just fallen asleep? He had to apologize right away!

Frantically, he scrabbled through the drawer next to his bed for the slim black book and a quill. Finding both, Harry sat back, took a couple of deep breaths, and wrote.

 _Tom, I think I might have broken my promise last night. I came back right away to talk to you again, but I can't remember anything after that, I think I must have fallen asleep or something. I know it's awful of me to ask, but can you forgive me?_

The words sank into the page with a heavy finality. This was it. Harry had screwed up, and now Tom wouldn't be his friend anymore. His chest ached, like it was caving in on itself. A tear fell onto the creamy paper and it, like the ink, faded away.

 _Oh, Harry,_ Tom wrote, his script as flawless as ever. Harry's heart lifted briefly at seeing it, before he remembered what was to come. _You didn't break your promise at all. You came back here, and told me about that Weasley girl, and we talked into the night. Do you really not remember?_

Harry couldn't believe it. He had kept his word, he still had his friend! A surge of joy and relief washed over him as he wrote his reply.

 _I'm so glad, I couldn't imagine what I would have done if I had hurt you! I suppose it makes sense, if we were up late talking, I'm dreadfully tired. Could that be why I don't remember anything, Tom?_

 _I'm sure that's it, but if it happens again, tell me straight away. I can't help but worry for your health, I feel guilty for keeping you from sleep so often. Tell me when you're tired, Harry, or hurting or ill. I can't do much from in here, but I want to take care of you._

 _Of course I will, Tom, I'll do anything you ask! You're the best friend I ever had, thank you for everything you've given me. Since you asked, it's early and I really am tired, so I suppose you'll want me to go back to sleep. Thank you._

Harry closed the book gently, put his quill back in its drawer, and curled up under his duvet with Tom's diary tucked into his arms. His sleep was blissfully dreamless

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Wow, my chapters are just getting shorter, huh. Honestly, there's nothing going on in my life, there's no crisis, I just haven't been writing. Starting this story, I had a deviation from the canon timeline and an image if how it would end, but filling in the middle is harder than I'd thought. As always, I'll do my best – and I know I'm not supposed to say so, but reviews really are the best motivation so please take the time to write one!

Also, I'll be in Newfoundland (woohoo!) from this Friday for two weeks, so my updates will continue to be erratic ^^;


	7. The First Petrification

**Chapter 7: The First Petrification**

 **Updated 7 August 2017:** I totally forgot that they were already brewing the Polyjuice, and Ginny had been possessed already, so I fixed that. Now the deal is that last time it was just graffiti, and this is the actual first petrification.

* * *

When Harry stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, every student gathered there fell abruptly silent. The tables were, for some reason, much fuller than was usual for early mornings, and the silence fell like a tangible weight. Worse, almost, was the ongoing, forcibly cheery chatter from the faculty table at the very front, even as they kept sneaking glances at Harry.

Head held high, hand tucked into his pocket to brush against Tom's book, Harry walked with measured steps to an empty seat at the long Gryffindor table. As he pulled out his selected chair, his housemates scattered left and right, even those across from him hastily spotting a friend sitting elsewhere.

What was going on? Harry served himself two pancakes (with syrup, of course), a not-too-crisp piece of bacon, and a spoonful of strawberries, and wondered. Was this because of his fight with Ron and Hermione? He could understand the Gryffindors getting their knickers in a twist over it, but why the rest of the school? Even the professors were looking at him, tearing their eyes quickly away when they noticed him looking back. Did gossip really spread that fast in this school?

Harry supposed he would find out soon, for Dumbledore had ascended to the podium and once more the Hall was silent. He stood straight, but his face was as solemn as Harry had ever seen it, and he somehow looked years older than he had yesterday.

"Students," the old Headmaster began, "and staff, and all others who reside in Hogwarts. Last night, an unfortunate incident occurred in this school. This incident was long past curfew - so I wonder how many seem to have heard rumors already," he added, the twinkle briefly returning to his eyes as several students stared abashedly at their breakfasts. "It is to my great sorrow that I must announce that, for the first time in fifty years, the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and one of the residents of this castle has been petrified."

The Headmaster waited patiently as students from every house broke into anxious conversation, scanning the room for their friends and family. Even the Slytherins, usually calm and collected in public, were whispering frantically to one another.

Harry sat there, stunned. He had seen the graffiti, but that was ages ago, and it had just been a bad joke hadn't it? Merlin, if there really was a monster that could petrify people he was lucky he had Tom, or he might not have returned so quickly to his dorm last night. And if he was petrified, what would happen to Tom then? He would have to take every precaution to keep himself and his friend safe.

Meanwhile, the noise in the Hall had slowly died down as everyone finished checking up on those they cared about. At this signal, Dumbledore drew himself straight once more and cleared his throat, a soft noise that nevertheless carried to each and every student.

"I can see that you are all rightfully worried about your classmates here at Hogwarts, and I hope that going forward in this difficult time we can all draw closer together, rather than pulling apart. I urge all of you to never travel these halls if you are not accompanied by at least one other student, and if you can manage it, a prefect or a professor. Your Heads of House should know where you are at all times, so stay together and do not linger between classes or hesitate to head straight to your dormitories at all other times. Morning classes have been cancelled today, so following this meal you will all go to your respective common rooms, where your Head of House will have further instructions. Thank you for your resilience at this time."

As the old man - for he looked old, truly old, now - stepped down from the podium, a voice rang out across the Hall.

"But who was it?"

Dumbledore stopped, slowly turned back, and looked out once more at the sea of faces staring up at him. He sighed, and then spoke. "To my deep sorrow, the member of this community who has fallen victim to petrification is none other than Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's beloved cat. I hope that she will be the first and final casualty of this event."

The tension in the Hall broke, students sagging with relief that none of their friends had been hurt. Soon, there was quiet laughter among some groups, because it's funny if you think about it, right, it's just a cat. Although the Headmaster sat on his throne-like chair as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders, the students seemed no longer to have a care in the world. Not one noticed that at the very end of the staff table, Argus Filch was weeping.

* * *

Several weeks passed, and soon Mrs. Norris' petrification was forgotten. If Filch seemed especially angry more often, that was just the way it was, and most of the students continued to ignore his demands that they follow his rules and then laugh behind his back, same as ever.

Harry Potter was not one of those students. He had confessed to Tom, days ago, how conflicted he felt over the loss of his two friends, and together they had decided that Harry should make amends. Harry, though, took this beyond Ron and Hermione, and had decided to right his wrongs with any resident of the school he could think of. Of course, the reunion of the Gryffindor trio came first.

Ron had been reluctant at first when Harry approached him, but when he saw how painful their separation had been for Harry as well, he gave in. It was awkward between them for a short while, but before long everything was back to normal and they were laughing and joking as though nothing had happened.

Hermione, on the other hand, welcomed Harry back with open arms, talking the whole while about how glad she was he'd seen the right of things, and what a terrible mistake he made, but don't worry, we're here for you now Harry, just don't do anything like that again, alright? Harry had nodded and smiled in the right places, and after that it was alright between them, although he did catch her giving him a certain _look_ when she thought he wasn't looking, as if he were a science project or some anomaly to be understood. He ignored it though, and soon enough it went away.

Now, it was time for Harry to talk to Filch. Although he didn't have much in the way of a relationship with the caretaker, he had noticed the man grieving his beloved cat, and how everyone else seemed to think it was all a big joke. So one afternoon, when all the third-years and above were off in Hogsmeade, Harry approached him.

Filch's office was in the dungeons, and it showed. The air smelled like pondweed and mold, and Harry could hear dripping not far off. He wrapped his robes tighter around himself and shivered before raising one hand to knock gently on the door. When no noise came from within, he braced himself and knocked again, harder. His Gryffindor courage was rewarded when the handle turned and, leaping back, Harry watched the door creak open to reveal Filch looking even worse than usual.

"Whadda ya want," the man said in a flat voice, a statement more than a question. He glared at Harry, daring him to think his petty reasons were enough to bother him.

"Well, um, Mr. Filch, sir, I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Mrs. Norris, and all," Harry ventured, his voice trembling in places. He was, after all, only twelve and Filch was nothing if not intimidating.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded, voice rising. "How dare you! Get out! _Get out!"_ But before he could slam the door, Harry put a small hand on his arm. Filch was stunned, and froze.

"I promise it's not a joke, sir. I really just wanted to offer my condolences. Um, me and my friends made a card, um, here it is," Harry said softly, offering with his other hand a folded-over square of parchment. "And, um, we're also trying to be cleaner, um, about the floors. Have a nice afternoon!" he said, increasingly quickly, and at the last word broke contact and fled.

Argus Filch stared at the paper in his hand, and tried to remember when last a student had come to his corner of the dungeon for any reason other than a detention.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

^^; I'm starting to think I just can't write more than 1500 words at a time, sorry! I am really trying to put aside time to write, and I'll definitely continue to update, don't worry about that. For now, enjoy, and I'll try to get more done ASAP.


	8. Aftermath

**Chapter 8: Aftermath**

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"Harry, we have to talk to you about something," Hermione began in a no-nonsense tone, although quietly, because they were in the library after all. In front of her, the heavy Transfiguration text she had been poring over was firmly shut, and the small stack of cross-references had been pushed to the side. Hermione meant business.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. He hoped it wasn't about that fight they'd had, that was a while ago and he really didn't want to dredge it up again. Ron didn't look angry though, so it was probably fine – although, come to think of it, was his red-headed friend usually so pale? "Is something wrong?"

"Well, um, not exactly," she replied. "Harry, have you noticed how the Hufflepuffs are all giving you dirty looks in the corridors lately?"

Harry had, in fact, noticed. "I have, in fact, noticed," he said. "Do you know why? I thought it was because I bumped into Sally-Anne that one time, and she spilled ink all over her shoes."

Hermione looked nervous. "That might have contributed to the greater issue, but–"

"Look, mate, what we're trying to say is, they all think you're the Heir of bloody Slytherin," Ron broke in. "Because you weren't there that night Filch's old fleabag– ow, Hermione, alright, Mrs. Norris, because you weren't there when Mrs. Norris got petrified, and no one could find you until the next morning, they think you must've done it."

Harry froze. He was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to throw the books off the table. How dare they, those lackwit children, what had he ever done to them that they had the right to make these baseless accusations! It was almost comical in its small-minded idiocy.

"H-Harry, are you alright? You look unwell," Hermione ventured, tentatively reaching out a hand to rest on his where it clutched the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. At her words, he relaxed his posture and took a deep breath.

"I'm perfectly well, Hermione, it's just… hurtful… that people should make such assumptions when I've never given them any reason to. But then, of course, I always have my dear friends to support me in my innocence," he said, flashing the pair a charming grin. "I'm just happy knowing that you and Ron would never doubt me."

"Of course not, Harry," she said soothingly. "Isn't that right, Ron?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," he said. "We're with you, all the way. The three of us'll stick together through thick and thin."

The trio resumed their studying, and spent the next few minutes in companionable silence, until Ron slammed his book shut. Harry looked quizzically over at him, while Hermione did her best to keep reading.

"You know who I bet is the Heir of Slytherin, though?" Ron said. "Malfoy, that blond ponce. Have you seen how he's always all shifty and sneaky, like he's hiding something? And no question he's evil enough, either, it's been practically bred into him. What d'you think, Hermione?"

"I think it's a ridiculous idea," she said, not looking up from her book. "Don't you think he'd be flaunting it left and right if he were descended from one of the Founders? And besides, if it's not all some prank, it's probably one of the sixth or seventh years. No way anyone else knows how to petrify animals."

"I mean, what if it is Malfoy, though?" said Harry. "He's certainly stuck-up enough, and I'll bet with his family he would know even if Slytherin was the most distant cousin he had. Besides, have you seen how he's been acting since that night? All cheery and purer-than-thou. I'm with Ron, I think something's up." Leaning across the table, he slapped Ron's hand in a high-five, earning a sharp glare from Madam Pince. Snickering, the two boys sank lower in their seats as if to become invisible to her.

"Oh, stop it," Hermione snapped. "I still think it's ridiculous, and anyway, there's no way to tell short of going up and asking him, which we're already going to do. I still think it'll be one of the older Slytherins, though. And it won't be long at all until the potion's finished, so until then can you two can it with the conspiracy theories?"

Ron looked taken aback by Hermione's harsh tone, and muttered something vaguely resentful. Harry, though, scooted his chair over and placed his hand on hers. "Now you're the one who looks unwell," he said. "I know our ideas wouldn't have gotten to you this much, so really, what's wrong?"

"You're right, I'm sorry for snapping. It's just this Transfiguration paper, I can't figure out how Gamp derived the second clause of her Law, and it's not in any of these books, and I don't know what I'm going to write!"

"Hermione," Ron said, "the paper is on the five exceptions to Gamp's Law, and it only has to be a foot long, you practically just have to list them."

"Ron's right, actually," said Harry. "I'm sure you'll get a perfect O anyway, just let it go. I don't even know if we'll ever need to learn, what was it? How she derived the Law? I've never heard anyone mention it before."

Hermione looked slightly put out, but put the heavy book she had been perusing on the top of a perilously high stack of similar texts. "I suppose you two may have a point," she admitted. "Well, then, what's the hold-up? Let's finish our papers!" And so the three of them bent studiously over their rolls of parchment, and their conversation faded into the soft scratching of quills.

That night, Harry begged off supper early to finish some homework, and raced upstairs to talk to Tom. Something was up with this Heir of Slytherin business and he meant to get to the bottom of it. Panting from a mad scramble up Hogwarts' many staircases, Harry skidded to a halt in front of the snoring Fat Lady and gently tapped the frame of her portrait to wake her.

"Who's there? Oh, another one of you lot, is it? Aren't you meant to be in the Great Hall at this hour? Only time I can get two winks in, and now of course you're back here, demanding to be let in. Ridiculous, I tell you! I remember the days when students listened to us, back when portraits got some respect, don't you know. And to think of it now! It seems like folly to you, eh, you little brat?" At this, she peered balefully at Harry and waited for an answer.

"Um, I, I'm sorry, ma'am," he stuttered. "I just need to finish some homework, I won't bother you again. Can I, um, go in now?"

"I suppose, it is my job after all, and tedious as it might be it's better than being unemployed. Well then, password?"

"Wattlebird," Harry said, and the portrait swung open to reveal an empty common room. As it clicked shut behind him he could hear the sound of faint snoring.

Although the common room was uninhabited save for Harry, a fire was still crackling merrily in the hearth. Books and parchment were scattered across most of the room's tables, left behind by hungry students rushing to their meal. The red-and-gold throw rugs covering the floor muffled Harry's footsteps, but as he crossed them he felt a fleeting sense of being watched. Could Dobby be lurking behind a chair, spying on him? The thought was ridiculous, but he hurried up the spiral stairs to his dorm with a quicker pace than usual.

The dorm was just as deserted, but instead of quills and stationary, the surfaces of the room were largely covered with dirty laundry. Harry resolved to be cleaner in future, but first, he had a friend to talk to. Sliding onto his bed, he fished the journal out of his pocket and placed an inkpot on the nightstand. Dipping a quill into black ink, he began to write.

Tom, have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?

Good evening to you too. The text carried an undertone of dry sarcasm, somehow. It is certainly strange you should ask – I remember the Chamber distinctly from my sixth year at school.

You do? Did you see it? What happened?

Alas, I was never myself made privy to the Chamber's mysteries. It was a younger boy, in Gryffindor, who opened it and set Slytherin's monster upon the school. He was a half giant, you see, and had some kind of grudge against muggleborns. Even then, they were more accepted in wizarding society than halfbreeds.

That's terrible! I know a half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid, and he's one of the kindest people I know, even if he is a bit thick sometimes. What happened after the Chamber was opened your time?

At first, there was a rash of petrifications, muggleborn students all. It went on for months, with everyone kicking up a fuss but not knowing how to stop it. It all came to a head near the end of the year, when a student was killed. They said they would shut down Hogwarts if the Heir wasn't caught. That's when I knew I had to take action, and put an end to it. There was a long pause, Tom's last sentence lingering on the paper while Harry waited. Finally, it faded away and Tom began to write again. But, Harry, there is something you should know. The one who set the monster loose while I was at school… it was Rubeus Hagrid.

Harry sat there in shock. How could it be, that the same Hagrid who had been friends with his parents had once tried to eradicate the muggleborns from Hogwarts? Had he changed? Or, could Tom be wrong about Hagrid? Tom, he asked, could you be wrong about Hagrid? What if it was someone else with the same name? And what do you mean, you had to put an end to it? What exactly happened?

It's a long story, and one that's hard for me to tell. There is a way, though, that I could show it to you just as I remember it, if you're willing. Have you ever heard of a Pensieve, Harry?

No, what is it?

A Pensieve is a magical device created for the storage of memories, those which are too great a burden to bear, or those which one wishes to show to others. Although this book is not itself a Pensieve, it holds my memories, and I can share them if I wish. I have been told that the experience is not dissimilar. Would you like me to show you?

Yes, of course! Maybe I'll see something you didn't – not that I mean it as an insult, just, you know. I don't want it to be Hagrid's fault. So how does this memory-sharing work?

Ink began once more to appear on the page, but rather than forming letters and words, it ran in rough lines and curves, which drew together to form an unmistakable sketch of a basin raised on a pedestal. Inside it, streaks of dark ink flowed in liquid whorls, reflecting an invisible light source. Underneath the pedestal's base, Tom's familiar script appeared again. Just lay a finger to the liquid in the Pensieve, he wrote. It can be… disorienting, so brace yourself.

Harry did as he was bid, gingerly reaching out with the index finger of his right hand to touch the swirling ink. A ripple appeared on its surface, and Harry felt wetness, as though the liquid on the page were real. A gasp escaped his lips, and he felt himself pulled into the picture.

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 **Author's Note:**

Sorry this took so long, but it's at least 500 words longer than usual! Also, I'm starting first year at Ryerson in September! I'm super nervous but also really looking forward to all my liberal arts electives :P


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